Chapter 11: Transformation, Eating is a Blessing

"It’s sweet." Zhang Xiaohu nodded.

"My mom’s sweeter than candy, and she’s just mine!" Qin Zihang crossed his arms. "This is my mom."

"Okay then," Song Fenglan said. "Zi Hang, this is the little boy from next door. Go wash up, both of you, then grab a bite."

Watching Zhang Xiaohu squeeze through the dog hole, Song Fenglan glanced at the neighboring yard but didn’t spot anyone else. She wondered if Auntie Fatty was even home. If a kid could sneak through once, they’d do it again.

When Qin Yizhou saw Zhang Xiaohu, he was confused but held back in front of the kid: *Xiao Hu, how did you get here?*

They were neighbors—their kids would probably play together sooner or later.

"Take them to wash their hands," Song Fenglan said as she went to peel and slice apples. She sliced two apples—no way one would be enough for two kids.

Soon, Song Fenglan had the apples neatly sliced and plated, even setting out forks.

"Go ahead and eat," she said.

Zhang Xiaohu’s eyes locked onto the food, mouth watering, and reached for an apple slice. "So good!"

Auntie Fatty hardly ever bought fruit—she saw it as a luxury. With two sons at home, meat and other necessities took priority. Torn clothes got patched up—new ones were too pricey. While she was decent at patching clothes, she was no match for Song Fenglan’s sewing when it came to making new outfits.

When Auntie Fatty returned home, she looked around but couldn’t find her younger son. She asked her older son, who was doing homework, "Where’s your brother?"

"He was right here a second ago," Zhang Wen said. Zhang Chenghai had picked the name, hoping his son would be studious.

"You didn’t even notice your brother was missing?" Auntie Fatty’s heart raced as she bolted out to look.

"Maybe he crawled through the dog hole to the neighbors’?" Zhang Wen said. His brother was always doing that.

Auntie Fatty often locked the front gate when she went out, afraid the kids might wander off. If they couldn’t leave through the main entrance, they’d find another way.

"I’ll go check," she said.

When Auntie Fatty arrived at Song Fenglan’s house, she saw Zhang Xiaohu happily munching on apple slices, a cookie in his other hand. She cringed—this stuff wasn’t cheap.

"This… I’m really sorry," Auntie Fatty said. "I turned my back for a second, and he was through that hole. I even locked the gate to keep him inside. I’ll block that hole tomorrow."

"That’s probably for the best," Song Fenglan agreed. "Kids get bigger—what if he gets stuck? Besides, we don’t always keep our gate locked. If he crawls over and then runs off, it’ll be hard to manage."

Song Fenglan couldn’t be responsible for someone else’s child—her concern was her own son. She didn’t want him crawling through holes either. If he wanted to visit the neighbors, he should go properly through the front gate. Good habits were important.

"Take a seat," Song Fenglan urged.

"Oh no, I can’t stay," Auntie Fatty insisted. "I just came to take Xiao Hu back."

She shot Zhang Xiaohu a look.

"Mom, can I have Zi Hang’s mom as my mom too?" Zhang Xiaohu asked, already familiar with Qin Zihang’s name. He’d brought this up earlier with Song Fenglan and now repeated it in front of his own mother.

"No way, she’s *my* mom!" Qin Zihang cut in. "Just mine."

"What’s one more?" Zhang Xiaohu argued.

"In your dreams!" Auntie Fatty flushed with embarrassment. She glanced at Song Fenglan—why was her son so fixated on having a mom like her? If Song Fenglan hadn’t seemed annoyed, she’d have grabbed her son and spanked him right then. "You’re just after the snacks. Let’s go home. You—"

Mrs. Fatty originally wanted to say, "Your brother’s still waiting for you back home."

But she held back. Her younger son had already eaten these things at someone else's house, which was embarrassing enough. If she mentioned her elder son now, it might lead to misunderstandings.

"I don’t wanna go back," Zhang Xiaohu said, reluctant to leave. He’d only just gotten there, but he felt this place should be his home. Zi Hang’s mother was gentle and beautiful—she’d wipe Zi Hang’s mouth so gently. Zhang Xiaohu looked at Song Fenglan. When she wiped his mouth, it was nice too, but his mom just scrubbed at his mouth, sometimes even using a coarse cloth.

"Time to go," Mrs. Fatty said.

"It’s not mealtime yet. If he wants to play here, let him stay a little longer," Song Fenglan said with a smile. "Kids like having playmates."

Song Fenglan knew Zhang Xiaohu had an older brother—she had heard about it from Qin Yizhou. Yesterday, she had asked Qin Yizhou about their neighbors, not wanting to be clueless. Qin Yizhou and Zhang Chenghai were on good terms.

Last night, Song Fenglan had overheard some of Zhang Chenghai’s remarks and found him too blunt, having no filter. Some things shouldn’t be said in front of her, the hostess—like comments about cooking or not cooking. Others might misunderstand and think Zhang Chenghai had a problem with her.

Song Fenglan thought that with personalities like Zhang Chenghai and his wife, they’d probably stepped on a lot of toes.

"Take these for the children," Song Fenglan said, packing two flaky pastries and an apple before handing them to Mrs. Fatty.

"No, no need. He’s already eaten here," Mrs. Fatty said, too embarrassed to accept. This stuff wasn’t cheap—it cost both money and ration coupons. Mrs. Fatty usually couldn’t afford to buy such treats for her children. Her husband still had to send money back to their hometown, and with her unemployed, the family relied entirely on Zhang Chenghai’s meager salary.

"Doesn’t Xiao Hu have an older brother?" Song Fenglan asked. "I’m not a great cook, so I won’t make anything to send over. But these little things are for the children—please don’t think it’s too little."

"Not at all, not at all," Mrs. Fatty said, taking the items. She couldn’t say no.

She studied Song Fenglan for a moment. As the wife of a regiment leader and someone from the capital, Song Fenglan had no reason to put on airs. Mrs. Fatty realized Song Fenglan was probably a good person—she’d jumped to conclusions, based on appearances. Before, she had assumed Song Fenglan wasn’t a decent woman, thinking she must be ugly. Seeing Song Fenglan—beautiful and educated—had thrown her for a loop.

"I’ll go back first. When it’s mealtime, I’ll come get him," Mrs. Fatty said.

"Alright," Song Fenglan replied.

Mrs. Fatty took the food home and placed it in front of her elder son.

"This is from Auntie Qin for you," she said. "She said since your brother ate over there, these are for you."

She didn’t hide the food or tell her son to save it for later. If her younger son had eaten, and they had given food for the elder son, she couldn’t very well deny him.

Zhang Wen was surprised. He stared at the two flaky pastries and the apple—could he really eat them?

"If it’s given to you, eat it," Mrs. Fatty said. "If you don’t eat it now, don’t whine when your brother grabs it later."

There was so little in the house, and Zhang Xiaohu, being younger and more mischievous, always fought for things. If he couldn’t get his way, he’d pitch a fit. To avoid a scene, Mrs. Fatty often made Zhang Wen give in to his younger brother, who ended up eating more.

The squeaky wheel gets the grease!

Zhang Xiaohu knew how to cry and make a scene, while Zhang Wen was more composed. No matter how mischievous Zhang Wen was, he was no match for his brother. Parents always made the older kid give in to the younger one, leaving Zhang Wen with little room to act up.

In the evening, it was Qin Yizhou who cooked, not Song Fenglan. While he was preparing dinner, Mrs. Fatty came to take Zhang Xiaohu back.

Song Fenglan had mentioned the pet flap to Qin Yizhou. If a child slipped through to the other side and left through someone else’s front door, that’d be a problem. They needed to block it with bricks.

Qin Yizhou had overheard Song Fenglan’s conversation with Mrs. Fatty and agreed with his wife. Many families kept their children indoors, but emergencies happened—they couldn’t always dump the kids on neighbors. That pet flap had to be sealed.

"I’ll find some bricks tomorrow," Qin Yizhou said.

"No rush. The neighbors might take care of it," Song Fenglan said. "Speaking of them… are they always so blunt?"

"Blunt?" Qin Yizhou had little interaction with Mrs. Fatty and didn’t know if her way of speaking was inappropriate. As long as his wife wasn’t slighted, it was fine.

"When I first arrived with our son, your son didn’t help—standing there saying, ‘Who’s my dad? Step forward!’" Song Fenglan recalled the scene and wanted to groan. "She probably thought I was there to confront a cheating husband. She wasn’t exactly warm about it. Later, when she learned the truth, she was quite embarrassed."

Qin Yizhou glanced at his son, Qin Zihang, thinking his son was quite capable.

"I usually stay in the military barracks and don’t live here. I come over rarely," Qin Yizhou said. "I don’t know much. If anyone gives you a hard time, you don’t have to compromise or lower your head."

"If someone troubles me, I’ll naturally fight back. I’m no pushover who’ll just take it," Song Fenglan said. "What do they take me for? Am I just some joke for their idle gossip?"

In previous years, Song Fenglan had been more reserved—it was a tough era, and if she didn’t endure, life would only get worse. But now, it was 1976, not 1968. Why should she still have to bow her head?

Song Fenglan didn’t need to take a deep breath or swallow her grievances.

"I wasn’t here before, so I don’t know how they talked about me," Song Fenglan said. "The looks they give me are downright weird—they don’t seem to believe I’m your wife."

"I don’t know," Qin Yizhou said. "I... honestly didn’t notice."

As a man, Qin Yizhou wouldn’t bother with women’s gossip. Especially since he rarely visited the family quarters, he wouldn’t have heard people talking about his household.

"You don’t need to notice. Now that we’re here, we’ll see soon enough," Song Fenglan said. "Don’t expect me to be some people-pleaser—if I don’t end up yelling like a fishwife, that’s already good enough."

Song Fenglan thought it was better that Qin Yizhou hadn’t noticed. It meant he didn’t interact much with those people, and he hadn’t done anything improper.

"Yelling like a fishwife is fine—at least you can protect yourself," Qin Yizhou said. He never thought there was anything wrong with being strong-willed. Standing your ground and defending yourself was what mattered most.

"It’s good that you think that way," Song Fenglan said.

After dinner, Song Fenglan sat at the sewing machine, preparing to cut fabric. She asked Qin Yizhou to look after Zihang for a while so she could focus on sewing.

"Dad, Brother Xiao Hu eats so much," Qin Zihang remarked. "I eat one piece, and he eats two."

He hadn’t said this in front of Zhang Xiaohu. His mother had taught him not to say such things in front of others.

"He’s older than you, so he eats more," Qin Yizhou said. He hadn’t noticed whether Zhang Xiaohu ate faster or more.

"A good appetite is a blessing," Song Fenglan said, scissors in hand as she cut the fabric. Hearing her son’s words, she couldn’t help but add, "You should eat more too—it’ll help you grow taller."

It was just food—there was no need to fuss over it.

But in these times, when food was scarce, some people paid extra attention to what they ate. Song Fenglan had lived through better times. Though she had suffered in recent years, her life was still better than most.

"If they eat more at our place, it means they value our home," Song Fenglan said. She didn’t want her son to develop negative thoughts. She didn’t fret if he ate more at others’ homes—she had taught him restraint. Most importantly, she made sure he ate well at home and even sneaked him out for extra bites. She never let him go hungry.

Before, Song Fenglan had a job, and with the money Qin Yizhou sent, they could easily support one child.

"But when I’m out, I can’t eat that much," Zihang said. "I really appreciate them."

"No need to force yourself," Song Fenglan said. "Just chew slowly—don’t choke. It’s awful if you can’t catch your breath."

"I don’t want pain," Zihang said.

"Ready for bed?" Qin Yizhou looked at his son. With his wife talking to the boy, he felt like he had no room to interject.

"Not yet, it’s still early," Zihang refused.

"Play with him for a while," Song Fenglan said. "Once he tires himself out, he’ll crash."

Since Qin Yizhou was on leave, the family had eaten early. Next door, Zhang Chenghai had work and returned late, so his family ate later.

"Commander Qin’s wife is really quite good," Auntie Plump sighed. "When you weren’t home, Xiao Hu crawled through the dog door. Before, since no one lived next door, I didn’t rush to block it. When Xiao Hu went over, Commander Qin’s wife even gave him food. The kid even joked about wanting her as his mom—as if that’d ever happen!"